


Shove

by smithereen



Category: Jonas Brothers
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Sibling Incest, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-05-14 12:55:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19273777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithereen/pseuds/smithereen
Summary: Sometimes I can hear voices, Joe thinks about saying.  I can almost hear voices whispering.  I don't know if they're talking in English.





	Shove

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ in July 2009.

"Hey," Nick says quietly, leaning in close to Joe's ear. He has his hand on Joe's shoulder, guiding him a little as they head into the hotel. "Are you okay?"

Joe blinks, his eyelids feeling extra heavy, and tries to think. It seems harder lately than it used to. "Yeah, I spaced out." He doesn't remember how they got here from the venue at all actually. He sort of remembers the show, technicolor bright and blurry, loud enough to shake you up all the way. He sort of remembers tumbling off stage and into their dressing room, sweaty and exhausted and jittery with adrenaline. And then it's like he woke up here, with Nick beside him, and Kevin ahead of them, and a trail of staff following them like ants. Really big ants with cell phones and guitars and amps. It's not the first time he's ended up somewhere without knowing exactly how he got there; Joe has never been known for his great attention span. But lately it feels like there's this big chunk of his life that's just kind of happening without him noticing. Lately, he feels kind of like his head is overstuffed. Like it's so full that sometimes nothing else can get in, like maximum capacity or something. 

"Joe," Nick says. 

Right, and now they're in the elevator. Joe closes his eyes because his vision is kind of blurry, like doubled almost. He must be more tired than he thought. "I'm super tired," he says. 

"That's all?" Nick asks a little doubtfully. 

"Yeah," Joe says. "I really need to catch a nap or something before our flight out."

He stumbles in the hallway over something hard but sort of a little bit squishy, stumbles full body into Nick, who catches him easily with an arm around his waist, and leans in tight to heft him closer. Joe smiles at Nick blankly, a heady sweet rush sweeping up from his belly, flushing his cheeks hot. Joe ducks his head, looks down at his feet, looks around for whatever it was that tripped him. What the heck was it? It was so weirdly squishy hard like the biggest, strongest balloon in the world. But there's nothing there. Just his feet. He blinks at that weird blurry thing in his vision. He frowns at his feet. Why are his feet so stupid? Everyone else's feet can walk with no problem, just walking and taking steps all over the place. How come his feet can't even manage something simple like not tripping over nothing?

Joe pulls away from Nick, flipping on the lights as he walks into the hotel room. He rubs at his eyes with his fingers, and squints until he can see pretty clearly again. Maybe he needs like, a new prescription for his glasses. Maybe he has a detached retina or something. Whatever. He decides he'll worry about that after the part with the sleeping. Sleep is a miracle drug. Maybe sleep can reattach a detached retina. 

"Sleep rules," he mumbles to Nick. "I wish sleep was a person. I would make out with it so much."

Nick laughs at him, and his hand comes down against Joe's neck, spreading out wide and squeezing and Joe is really adorable, and God the way his skin feels so hot, and he wants- Oh. Joe lurches backward into Nick, his balance thrown off almost like being pushed a little bit. "Hey, careful." Nick catches him with his body, with his hands, his arms. His arm crosses around Joe's waist, fingers digging in against Joe's hip as he sets him back on his feet. Joe sighs, just wanting- Wanting to touch him. He turns around and hugs Nick tight, tight as he can, and everything goes super blurry for a second and his head starts to hurt a little bit with how full it feels, but he feels full all the way up not just in his head, full with how much he loves- And how much he wants- And he's so happy. So he closes his eyes and just holds on.

*

Joe falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, but instead of staying asleep until the very last second before they have to go catch their plane like he planned, he jerks awake at 3:12, sits halfway up before he even realizes he's not asleep anymore. He pants in the dark, trying to get his bearings, remember where he is. The dream feels like it's right underneath his skin, only half forgotten, but he can't reach it. Not quite. Nick's lying there beside him, turned over on his stomach, his face half buried in his pillow, his hand curled up under his chin. He makes a little sound, soft, a kind of whimper. Joe reaches over and touches Nick's bent elbow, tries to ground himself. He shudders, the dream swamping over him thick, thick and sticky and vivid bright. 

It was Nick. Nick's mouth, wet and hot. Nick's skin, soft and warm. He can remember the way Nick's skin tasted warmer than it felt under his fingers. He can remember the way Nick moved against him like a wave breaking. He can remember Nick's cock, hard and sort of familiar strange in his hand. He can remember what it _tasted_ like, thick and slippery on his tongue. 

Oh- Oh God. He lets go of Nick's elbow, and tucks his arms in around his knees, curling in small with his cheek on his knee. Usually Joe doesn't remember his dreams much at all. Usually he doesn't try. Except- That's a lie. He tries _not to_. He remembers enough to know, he shouldn't- But what you do in dreams isn't your fault. That's not something you can just stop, whatever weird thing your brain decides it wants to make up while you're too unconscious to protect yourself. But he never remembers, not more than a vague need, a vague ache. And maybe a not so vague hard-on. 

He looks down at his hard-on now. 

He locks himself in the bathroom, turns on the water in the sink just in case. He doesn't want Nick to hear him. Not when he- He remembers it so clearly. The way it felt. Not when there's nothing vague about this, about what he wanted. Wants. 

He wraps his hand around his hard dick and tries to think about something safe, about something _else_. But the memory is too sharp. He can still taste, smell, feel, see. Nick. And it's even more than that. It's like the weird not quite shapes that keep turning his vision blurry, these sort of half there wisps of something. He can remember himself too, sort of. Like an echo, a fast moving shadow he can only see out of the corner of eye. It's his back slick with sweat, and the way his stubble feels scraping rough, and the way his mouth looks when it falls open in a pant. It's almost real, and it shifts, flickers over the solid, thick memory of Nick. Nick. Nick. 

He grunts, fucks into his hand, fucks into the memory. His head hurts with that overstuffed tightness, but not as much as his dick aches. And if he says Nick's name out loud when he comes, it's not louder than the water rushing from the tap. 

*

Joe feels groggy when he wakes up again an hour later to catch their flight, sort of hungover almost. Not that Joe's ever actually been drunk, but he thinks this is what it would feel like the next day. Headachey and kind of sore. His skin feels tender; his clothes hurt a little bit where they touch him. His retina is still detached too. He blinks at the weird afterimages with a frown. He thinks maybe he'll have to tell someone soon. Maybe he'll have to go to the doctor even. If it isn't cleared up by tomorrow, he promises. Definitely, if it hasn't fixed itself by then. He's totally going to deal with it. Just as soon as he gets a little bit more sleep. 

He can't tell when he blinks his eyes open, if he's really awake or if he's dreaming. Except when he looks down to see what's moving against his skin, there's a blanket inching its way up his chest, moving soft and snuggly over his legs, curling over his shoulder, tucking in around his waist. By itself. So definitely still dreaming. He closes his eyes again, and the blanket snuggles closer, hugging against him. He can almost feel- Not hands but something- Something sort of squishing a little bit against him, rubbing against his hip and squeezing his shoulder. Something sort of wispy soft sliding through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. Something stroking down his back, strong and soothing. This is a really weird dream. But not- Not a bad dream. He buries his nose in the dream blanket, and sighs contentedly as it curls around him warm and eager, and it almost seems like he can hear it _talking_. He can't quite catch it though. Cause it's talking in blanket or something, and he doesn’t speak blanket. But he can hear something like a whisper, sort of fierce and insistent, and he thinks mostly whatever it's saying just means it loves him.

 

*

"I had the weirdest dream," he tells Nick at the venue. They're getting something to eat, and all Nick has on his plate is a bunch of French fries. And like ten gallons of ketchup. Joe frowns at him disapprovingly, and Nick rolls his eyes as he grabs a hamburger. And then, with some reluctance, a handful of grapes. "It was- I had a pet blanket?" Joe squints. "But it was like a magical talking blanket? I think it had a crush on me." 

Nick drops his plate. 

"I thought I was supposed to be the clumsy-" Joe starts. He looks at the plate, head cocked. He blinks, and looks at Nick. "Okay, that's weird." All the stuff that was on the plate is still on the plate. None of it even budged or slid or splattered or rolled off or anything. Not even _a little_. Not even a single grape. Nick leans over and scoops the plate up off the floor. The tips of his ears are flushed red, and Joe can see it spreading over the back of his neck.

"Yeah," he says. "Weird." He doesn't look at Joe, just pushes past him to the table and sits down.

Joe sits down next to him, their knees bumping under the table. "How could it-" Joe says. But he feels really like, _nervous_ , even bringing it up. And that's- That's weird too. Like maybe even weirder than gravity defying food-stuffs. But he can't quite bring himself to talk about it when it makes him feel kind of actually a little bit _scared_. The longer he doesn't talk about it the more he feels the knotted tension in his belly fade. And when Nick stops staring awkwardly at his food, starts actually eating it, starts laughing a little at Joe's jokes, Joe decides he doesn't really care that much about figuring out why there's no ketchup all over the floor. Not when he can focus on trying to get Nick to admit that he stole Joe's new jeans because Joe has the most awesome taste, like way better taste than Nick, instead. 

*

Joe's headache hasn't really gone away by the time they go onstage, screams echoing deafening around them, but he's kind of stopped noticing the dull ache of it. The music pounds so hard in his chest, at his temples that the headache is almost a part of it, pulsing underneath it like a drumbeat. He bounces hard on his heels, bounces to the throb in his head like dancing. He can hear his voice in the monitors, and the audience swelling against him, and the horn section is grooving, and Nick catches his eye from the other side of the stage, their voices straining for harmony. It's so huge it sweeps through him, swamps him, overwhelming enough to drive the niggling ache in his head under. 

He jumps down over the side of the stage, and extends his arm out into the wall of grabbing hands, touching. His heart is pounding, and he's grinning, and he has to fight to get his arm back enough to put the mic to his mouth. And then it all goes a little sideways, hands holding him, not letting go, grabbing at him hard enough to hurt, to tear at his shirt. He's still laughing at first, but one of the barricades gives way and it's suddenly too much, too close, hands rough against him, the crush of bodies pushing against him, stronger than him.

He freaks out. Like, he can see the security is right there, and he _knows_ he's going to be fine. But he's still _freaking out_ , shot through with full out panic like he hasn't felt since Nick was diagnosed. His vision goes super weird too, like he's sort of seeing too many things to see anything at all. He can make out the hands around him, feel the crush of heat and the edge of violence. But he can see flashes of himself too, like from farther away. He feels sort of blind, like the whole world is just a Magic Eye painting and he can't see the sailboat. So it takes him a second to figure out what's going on when he feels a solid, firm push all around him, like a rush that brushes hard against him as it flings _out_. And all of a sudden there's space all around him, space to breathe. All of a sudden he's standing by himself. And there are people all around him, fighting to reach him, but they don't. He doesn't know why they don't. He squints hard, staring like he can force himself to see the sailboat. But it's all just a confusing jumble as security reaches him, lifts him back up on the stage. 

Kevin's patting him on the back, yelling something about is he okay, and Joe nods. He's still kind of shaky, but that sharp panic is gone, and he feels like he's only looking out of one pair of eyes now. He's got his feet back under him. He's fine. 

"Idiot," Nick says into the talk back mic. "You're such an _idiot_." Joe grins, touching his ear piece. He knows in the Nick to English dictionary that translates to, "I was worried about you." 

The thing is though, when he turns to look over at Nick, Nick's not anywhere near the mic.

*

"I'm _fine_ ," Joe says to Nick as they're walking shoulder to shoulder to their dressing room after the show's done. Everyone else knows he's fine. Everyone else is laughing about it. JT and Garbo have already got like, an entire skit they've been doing for the crew. Even their mom hugged him tight, and shook her head like she was kind of amused and also kind of really tired, and told him "Don't _do_ that." And then she _let it go_. But Nick is still pissed.

"Your shirt is torn," Nick says. He's glaring. 

"I have other shirts."

Nick reaches over and grabs Joe by the wrist, hard. He lifts Joe's arm up between them. The fluorescent lights turn the pinkish, purpley marks on Joe's bicep ugly, harsh. "You have _bruises_." He gives Joe's arm a shake. "You almost got yourself killed."

Joe snorts. That's so exaggerating. "The security guys were _right there_. And I've gotten hurt worse walking through a door." He doesn't mention that strange sudden panic coming out of nowhere, closing his throat with fear that didn't even fit quite right inside his body. He snatches his wrist back. He knows the only reason Nick's mad is because he was scared. But it's just not a big deal, and Nick is making it a big deal, and he doesn't want it to be a big deal, and he doesn't want to _talk about it_ because he still isn't exactly sure what even happened. Thinking about it makes him kind of dizzy, and he would like to just move on with their lives. Because he is _fine_. 

He shrugs at Nick, and he can tell his eyebrows are giving more and more attitude the longer Nick glares at him with his jaw clenching, so he turns to walk away because he doesn't want to be pissed at Nick just for getting worried about him. Except his feet get tangled up in something, and he tips backward, arms starting to flail. He tips kind of slower than seems entirely normal, almost like he's less falling and more sinking. And when he lands against Nick's chest, Nick's arms coming up to steady him, it's with a gentle thud instead of the hard impact he's bracing himself for. He blinks, surprised, and he can hear Nick talking low and kind of under his breath, but he can't understand what he's saying. Like Nick is talking in blanket or something.

"What?" he says. 

"What?" Nick says. 

Joe cranes his head to see Nick behind him, and Nick's looking at him, confused. "I thought you said- Something." Nick shakes his head. Joe manages to get his legs untangled, and Nick helps him upright, his hands holding on maybe a little tighter than they need to, a little longer than is strictly necessary. His nose rubs against the back of Joe's neck, his cheek sliding across Joe's skin, and Joe feels a little better like- Safer. Like something slipping loose so he can breathe.

It seems like Joe has a hard time catching his balance after that. Joe has never been what you would call graceful, especially lately, but this is like he's wearing the wrong feet or something. He can barely go five steps without tripping over something, stumbling all over himself, jerking into Nick's hip, bumping into Nick's shoulder. Nick's hands are always there keeping Joe upright, holding on to him, pressing into him, catching him. Steady. But Jesus H, he's pretty sure he's known how to walk for years now. And he's positive a couple times his toes definitely caught on _something_. Except when he looks there's never anything there. And no one's behind him when he stumbles forward into Nick's back, but he could have sworn he felt a push.

He's kind of worried for real now. Maybe he doesn't have a detached retina. Maybe he has like, a brain tumor. Maybe it's the kind that makes you crazy before you die. Or like- Blind. Maybe it's the kind where all your hair falls out from chemo. Or maybe it's the kind they can't even fix. Or if they do try to fix it, they accidentally turn you into a vegetable or cut out the part of your brain that remembers how to talk. Maybe he's actually really _sick_. 

He grabs onto Nick once they get on the plane, snuggling in close against him on the couch and wrapping him up tight as he can in Joe's arms, holding onto him like he's the only thing keeping Joe from keeling over dead right there. Nick elbows him a little to show him he's still mad, but barely even enough to notice, before he turns in Joe's arm and sags boneless and floppy, fisting Joe's shirt in his hands and exhaling a long, shaky breath. Joe buries his face in the crook of Nick's neck, and breathes Nick in as deep as he can, feels himself getting heavy and calm and slow like he's about to fall asleep. Feels the fear drain out of him until he's smiling a little. Until there's only a hint of it left curling, curling underneath how strong Nick's arms are, and how soft Nick's hair is, and how his chest presses a little against Joe when he breathes.

Joe makes it all the way to the hotel without tripping once.

*

Joe curls around one of his pillows while Nick's in the bathroom brushing his teeth. He closes and opens his eyes fast, fast, fast until his vision is strobing like a disco and he feels a little sick to his stomach. He bites the corner of his pillow, tongues at the bright white pillowcase to see how it tastes. It tastes dry. 

"How do you know if you have a brain tumor?" he says.

Nick spits into the sink, turning to look at him. He shifts his weight, his hip jutting, a little laughter caught on his lips. "What?"

"I think I might have one," Joe says, testing to see if saying it out loud makes it seem real or if it makes it seem stupid. Mostly it just hangs there.

Nick laughs at him, rinsing off his toothbrush and climbing into bed. "You don't have a brain tumor." He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. And okay, _that_ makes it seem a little stupid.

"How do you know?"

"Well, why do you think you have one?"

"I get these headaches," Joe says. "And sometimes my vision-" He spreads his fingers in front of his face, and squints one eye shut and then the other. "It's gets really blurry and stuff. But not all the time." He drops his hand down to this belly. 

"That could just be fatigue," Nick says. "We have two days off coming up pretty soon. You'll be fine." Nick always sounds like he knows what he's talking about. Sometimes it's hard to know for sure if he really does or if he's just making it up. It still kind of helps though, hearing him.

"Yeah but I've been falling down a lot lately," Joe says. "Way more than normal." Sometimes it's like someone invisible is pushing me, he doesn't say. Because he doesn't have to say that out loud to know it sounds stupid, or worse- Crazy.

Nick flushes and looks away, busying himself with the alarm clock. "Oh-" he says. "T-that's-" And is Nick _stuttering_? Joe props himself up on his elbow, intrigued. Nick looks up, catches Joe staring and ducks his head back down. "That's probably just- That could be fatigue too. I um- I'm sure that'll go away when you have a chance to catch up on your sleep. I-" He clicks off the light, but not before Joe can see his cheeks are still pink. "I promise."

Sometimes I can hear voices, Joe thinks about saying. I can almost hear voices whispering. I don't know if they're talking in English. 

He doesn't say it.

"We can check on WebMD," Nick offers. "If you want."

"Yeah-" Joe says. "I don't know." He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling in the dark. "It's probably nothing." 

He can hear Nick moving around, see the dark shape of him pushing back his covers. Nick pads over in the dark, slides in under Joe's covers, his phone in his hand. "Just in case," he says, turning it on. Joe pulls himself up so he's propped against the headboard. Nick leans in close, their shoulders touching, their heads bumping a little when they lean over the tiny screen.

*

Nick was probably right. According to the Internet if Joe did have a brain tumor he'd be throwing up or having seizures and stuff. And Joe's legs seemed to remember how they're supposed to work after Nick made their management cancel a bunch of interviews the morning of their Phoenix show so Joe could sleep in. Yeah, he fell on the trampoline in Tulsa. And he ran into that SUV door when his vision got wonked out the other night. But he feels like he and his feet are getting along pretty well for the most part. Anyway there haven't been any invisible balloons or whatever the heck to trip over lately.

His head though. His head hasn't really- Cleared up. But maybe Nick was right about that too. Maybe all he needed was a day off because he was at the beach all day today with JT and Ryan, and his vision didn't blur at all. His head feels really clear, and like it's not that full anymore. It feels actually- A little _too_ empty. Like his thoughts don't take up enough space. Maybe he's just had that headache so long, he kind of got used to it. So now it feels like something's missing without it. It's pretty weird to say he misses his headache. He's not complaining. It's awesome to feel like there's nothing wrong with him. Like he's completely one hundred percent normal. 

Except he does kind of miss his headache. A little.

*

It's funny how the closer they get to the hotel, the worse Joe feels. He really doesn't mind that his headache starts to slowly come back. He doesn't even know if it's right to call it a headache anymore. It doesn't even hurt now. Not exactly. It's like his brain is swollen up as big as it can get, but it's just tight against his skull. Like it barely fits, but it _does_ fit. So yeah. He doesn't actually mind that there's less space inside his head, because more space was sort of lonely really. 

He does wish some of the space wasn't being taken up right now with this distracting little chant that's beating against the base of his skull. It goes "JoeJoeJoeJoe" on eternal repeat. It's not- Like he knows it's his head and everything, but it really feels like someone else put it there. He's not _that_ self-obsessed. Wherever it came from, it's making Joe feel like his skin is too tight, and the car is too small, and when will they get to the hotel already because he needs to _get out_. 

Joe grits his teeth, but it just keeps poking away at him from the inside. By the time they're in the elevator, he's drumming his fingers against his legs, and tapping his feet against the floor, and bumping his shoulder blades against the wall behind him. JT asks him if he had Mexican Jumping Beans for lunch, but Joe can barely force a grin through how bad he needs the doors to open, how bad he needs to get _moving_. He should have taken the stairs. He feels a little bit like he might scream.

When he gets to the hotel room, Nick looks up listlessly from the bed he's lying on with his guitar. He's not really playing it; he's just kind of holding onto it, stretched out on his stomach with one arm draped over it like it's his teddy bear. "Oh," he says. "You're here." 

The little chant in Joe's head trails off into a weird rush of sort of dizzy, disjointed, happy, bleary, confusion. Joe grabs the wall as his vision goes doubled. Damn it. He was doing so well too. Joe flops forward onto the bed. He feels like crap, kind of nauseated and exhausted all of a sudden. Maybe he got too much sun. 

"Have a good day?" he asks Nick.

"Oh," Nick says vaguely. "I played- I wrote this- I think I- Was asleep. What time is it?" 

Joe looks over at Nick sharply, propping himself up so he can see better. Nick looks out of it, blinking and unsure, and his face is really pale. Like way too pale. Joe sits up. "When was the last time you checked your levels?" His voice is louder than he meant for it to be, and he's on his feet before he even notices he's moving.

"I, um-" Nick licks his lips, his eyes narrowing like he has to really think about it. "I got busy." Joe grabs Nick's chin in his hand. Nick lets him, his eyes following Joe in this hazy barely connected way that's scary as hell. There's a clammy sweat beaded on his upper lip, on his forehead. He clings onto Joe's wrist and his fingers are _shaking_. "Could you get me some juice?" he asks. His voice is trembly.

Joe's hands are shaking now too as he grabs a bottle of juice out of the mini bar and tries to pry the cap off. There's an insulin shot in the bathroom, he thinks in his shaving kit. God, why is this cap like super glued onto the goddamn bottle! He finally forces the cap off the juice, spilling a little of it onto the bedspread. He helps Nick sit up, propping him up with one arm, and feeding him the juice with the other.

"Can do it-" Nick says, pulling away from the bottle for a breath. "Myself." Joe puts the bottle back to Nick's lips, watches carefully as he swallows each sip down.

"Obviously you can't," Joe says, angry. "Or you wouldn't have let it get this bad. What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was going to- From the soda machine down the hall. The song-" Nick says, before Joe swamps his mouth with juice. A little of it dribbles out over his lip, and he pushes at Joe's hand, pushes the bottle away. "I got really- Dizzy. I didn't think I could-" Joe brushes the drops of juice from Nick's chin with his thumb, and covers his mouth with the bottle again, choking off his words. 

"Shut up and finish drinking this."

Nick frowns at him around the bottle. "Don't tell me to shut up." 

"Why didn't you just get something out of the mini bar?" Joe says, watching Nick swallow, swallow, each flex of his throat, each sip of juice settling Joe's panic a little bit. He takes a shaky breath. It's okay. Nick's okay. 

"It's so overpriced," Nick is complaining. "It's a waste of-

"Dude! You're a millionaire!" 

"It's still a rip off!"

"It's your _life_ , Nick. It's important enough to spring for overpriced juice." The last of the juice drips onto Nick's face when he pushes Joe's hand away, hard, his eyebrows drawing down. He struggles to sit up on his own. Joe tosses the empty bottle in the general direction of the trash can, and touches Nick's lip gently, his thumb coming away wet, sticky with juice. "Do you need more? Where's your kit? We need to check your levels."

"Bath. Room." Nick enunciates really weirdly loud and slow, his eyes squinted half shut in concentration. 

Joe bounces from one bed to the other and takes a flying leap toward the bathroom door, grabs the kit. He fumbles around in his shaving bag until he finds the emergency insulin shot too. Just in case. He hands the kit over to Nick, and then thinks better of it when he sees Nick still blinking groggily, still shaking a little. He efficiently pricks Nick's finger himself, waits impatiently for the number to come up, his hand stroking over Nick's head, petting, trying to settle the rolling in his stomach.

"I'm okay." Nick flashes the monitor at him. "I feel- Better. I'll check it again in a minute."

Joe holds onto Nick's face, cradling it in both his hands, so he has to meet Joe's eyes. "You have to be more careful," he says. 

Nick blinks, and he still looks more fuzzy than Joe would like, sort of vague and soft and lost. Joe rubs his thumbs over Nick's cheekbones. 

"Okay?" he says. "I don't care how good the song is. Don't- " He curls his fingers around the back of Nick's neck. "Don't do that to me. I can't-" He touches the corner of Nick's mouth with his thumb. "You scared me so bad." He touches his lips gently to Nick's lips. Nick's lips are a little bit chapped, and he tastes sweet, sticky. Nick's lips fall open with a little sound, and then it's like the entire inside of Joe's head _explodes_.

His brain doesn't fit inside his head at all anymore, not even close. It's jammed so tight it feels like his head is splitting in half. And it's want, need, Joe, lips, tired, hungry, please, please, want, and it's the last two bars of this song that just won't come out right, don't stop, and it's how hot Joe's skin feels under his hands, please, please, it's the way his tongue is still thick, clumsy from the low, stupid. It's the way Joe's fingers feel when they squeeze down hard on his shoulder, hard enough to hurt, but he doesn't mind because he wants, Joe, Joe, Joe. It's love so thick and deep and so _much_ Joe gasps for air, for space, as his vision starts to grey out, as he starts to fall over the side of the bed, as everything in his head just shuts down.

It's Nick.

*

When he opens his eyes again, Joe feels like he's looking through the curtains, but he can still tell that someone's lifting him up onto the bed. Only no one's actually touching him. Something rolls him over onto his back on the bed, the pressure against his sides a little squishy hard, familiar. And Nick is leaning over him, worried, touching his face, shaking his shoulder. His mouth is moving but Joe can't hear anything. God, there's _nothing_ , just silence. Joe reaches out with his fingers, brushes them against Nick's arm, clings onto his sleeve weakly because he can't hear, he can't hear him talking. There's a low murmuring that starts up inside Joe's head, too quiet to make out the words, but he knows now it's Nick. And he feels a little better, a little less by himself in the silence. 

Then Nick has a glass of water in his hand even though he didn't go anywhere to get one. When he splashes it into Joe's face, Joe sits up, blinking, dripping, taking in a shocked gasp of air. His hearing comes back like someone turning up the volume on the TV, and his vision gets clearer as he watches a towel race over through the air on its own. Nick uses it to wipe the water off his face gently, tousling through his hair, pressing the terrycloth against his cheeks, his lips. The empty glass zips across the room, back to the bathroom, and then bobs out again refilled with water and spilling it all over. It clicks down half full on the end table. He hears the tap turn off in the bathroom, and then Nick pushes him back down onto the pillows that are shifting all around him like a herd of fluffy white sheep all trying to get under his head at once. 

"Too weird!" he shouts, and sits up again with a jerk that sends a sharp stab of pain through his head. 

Nick tries to push him back down. "Joe!" 

Joe pushes at Nick's hand, and scrambles forward off the squirmy pillows. His eyes squint shut because the light seems too bright, and his head is aching, hurting like it's been forced open too wide. 

"Stop it," Nick says. "You need to calm down! You fainted or something!" He throws a leg over Joe's hip, and pushes on his shoulders, and he must be feeling better because he doesn't have much trouble sending Joe flopping backwards again. At least the pillows aren't moving anymore.

"Calm down?" Joe says. "I'm in an episode of _Bewitched_!" He presses the heel of his hand to his forehead right over his eye where his head is throbbing. He cocks his head. "Actually that's kind of-" He looks up at Nick and wrinkles his nose. "You have superpowers," he says, a grin breaking out over his face. "That's so- Cool."

Nick smiles back at him a little sheepishly, his hand kneading Joe's shoulder. "Kind of, I guess."

"Can you-" He starts to ask Nick to float him up to the ceiling or something. Thinks about boinging in the air on weird balloon squish like some giant invisible bouncy castle with hands- Oh. His face falls. "You were _tripping me_ ," he realizes.

"No, I-" Nick sounds completely offended at the very idea. "I was _catching_ you."

"Yeah, after you _tripped_ me." Nick opens his mouth to argue, but Joe is so mad. He can't remember when he's been this mad at Nick ever. He glares at Nick so hard, Nick recoils a little, his mouth snapping shut. "You let me think I had a _brain tumor_." I thought maybe I was _crazy_ , he doesn't say because it's still too scary to say that out loud, to even think it. It seemed too close to possible to let himself think it then, now, ever. 

He pushes at Nick, trying to dislodge him from his seat on Joe's waist, pissed off. So _angry_. He just wants to not look at Nick right now. To not hear that little curling whispering thread of Nick inside his head. He can feel Nick guilty and sad and a little mad too because he didn't mean to scare him, hurt him, and how was he supposed to know? He pushes at Nick again, even angrier somehow that he has to have that in his head. That he has to have Nick's _hurt_ all tangled up with his own. He doesn't want to know if Nick's sad or if Nick feels bad or if Nick just wanted to touch him. He wants to be pissed off. Just for a little while. He wants to be by himself. 

"I'm switching rooms with Kevin," he says, pushing at Nick again, pushing as hard as he can and Nick pushes back against him.

"Why?" Nick asks, his voice small. Nick's hands curl around Joe's wrists, tight, and they're jerking at each other, pushing at each other. Fighting. 

Because I can't deal with having you in my head right now, he doesn't say. "Because you're a dick," he says instead. Joe scrabbles with his legs, wrenches an arm free. "Let me _up_." 

"No, I- Don't want you to. I can-" The desperation in Nick's voice echoes through Joe's head, pushing in where he doesn't want it, his vision getting all distorted with his own face, his own angry face looking back at him hard and mean and almost as solid in front of him as Nick's scared face, Nick's fear so thick and he can't let him just leave, not like this, not knowing he's a freak, and Joe can't- He can't _stand it_. He pushes as hard as he can until he's almost, almost got the leverage to- But then it's like all the air gets hard and heavy around him, like all the air starts pushing against him, pushing down, and he's not strong enough. His hands are pinned above his head, he can press a little bit against the squishyness of it, but he strains, strains as hard as he can, and he can't break it. His legs are locked down the same way, banded with what feels almost like hands but not enough like hands stretched around his ankles, pressing down. Nick's bent over at the waist, his knees on either side of Joe's hips, his hands gripping onto Joe's arms like he's still fighting him. But he's not holding Joe down with his hands anymore. He doesn't have to touch him to be stronger than him.

Nick's face is close, hovering just above Joe's with his hands still gripping Joe's arms, tight, tight. He looks weird; his eyes are dark and he blinks down at Joe like he's not sure exactly how Joe got there. "Nick!" Joe says, loud into Nick's face like he's trying to wake Nick up. "What is this supposed to-" Nick's hands come off Joe's arms, not that it makes any difference, as Joe pulls vainly at the hard pressure holding him down. Joe's voice lowers to a whisper, all the force going out of it. "You have to let me up eventually." He thrashes, but there's no room to thrash, it's just flexing muscles, no give. He pants, exhausted. 

Nick drops his forehead down until it's touching against Joe's forehead, his breath pushing against Joe's lips. Joe closes his eyes before Nick's lips settle over his and the rush of want, need sucks at him, drags at him like a rip tide. He can't tell how much of it's Nick. How much of it's him. He turns his head to the side, away, feels Nick rub his cheekbone against Joe's face, his chin pressing into the sweaty crook of Joe's neck, feels Nick hard and grinding into him. He bites his lip when Nick's dick jolts against his own. He's so hard. Nick's hands stroke against Joe's face, his hair until Joe turns his head, meets Nick's eyes. Nick whimpers, kisses him again, biting at Joe's lips, licking into his mouth.

Nick scoots up a little higher on Joe's waist, rutting against Joe's belly. Joe can feel his pants unbutton themselves behind Nick, can feel the zipper snick down, feel his clothes peel away from him underneath a hard rush of not hands, a little rough, a little clumsy. Joe feels cold air-conditioning against his naked dick, against his legs. He jerks his arms helplessly, completely vulnerable, exposed. 

"Nick," he says. He's begging. He's not sure what he's asking for.

Nick settles himself between Joe's legs. He touches Joe's dick like he's curious, circling it just below the head with his forefinger and thumb, sliding his fingers down until they hit the wiry curls at the root. Joe watches him warily, his breath coming too hard. He jerks his arms a little, testing. 

Nick's tongue flicks out, just tasting, licking at the head with soft little lapping licks. Joe makes a very embarrassing high pitched noise in the back of his throat, his hips jerking forward. Nick pulls back a little, surprised at the movement, and then Joe can feel the air get heavy and solid around his hips, holding him. Down. Nick's hands are gentle when he grabs the base of Joe's cock, but the not quite hands on Joe's wrists, on his hips, on his ankles are so rough, strong when he strains against them, his back, his knees coming up off the bed a little bit. 

Nick's mouth is hot when he opens it over the head of Joe's dick, when he slides down to the top of his hand, his tongue working to figure out where it should go, his eyebrows drawn down in the same kind of concentration he gets when he's learning a new instrument. Joe wants to fuck into that hot, wet, wants, wants. But he's not strong enough to lift his hips, and Nick's going so slow, like he's memorizing, _learning_. He grunts a little as he gets used to it, his mouth relaxing, his lips thinning out around Joe's length. He starts to suck like sucking on his thumb, strong, greedy sucks that push his tongue up against the vein underneath. His hand is kneading Joe's thigh, fingers working at the skin. 

Joe's breath comes in sounds that aren't words, aren't pants, something sort of in between, strained and loud and deep in his throat. Joe thinks he might cry.

Nick makes satisfied little grunts, pulling a little at Joe's pubes, tugging and sucking, sucking wet and sloppy. Joe wants to touch him so bad, to thread his fingers through Nick's curls, to turn his head so he can see him better, meet Nick's eyes, watch himself slip between Nick's lips. He flexes his wrists helplessly, tugs hard, and again. Says, "Please." 

Nick looks up at him, his mouth full of Joe's dick, and his chin all slippery. His eyes are heavy lidded like he can barely keep them open, like he's drugged. His hand works against Joe's leg, and he's sucking absently like he forgot a little bit what he was doing. And it's like Joe's got two movies running at the same time in his head, and they're so mixed up and so much, that he starts to feel like he's got motion sickness. He has to close his eyes and now that he can't see Nick, so hungry beautiful with his mouth open, full, all he can see on the dark insides of his eyelids is himself. With his cheeks flushed and his chest heaving, stretched out and helpless. He thinks he should be embarrassed to get these glimpses of himself so opened up with wanting, so naked and so laid bare. Thinks he should be embarrassed to know a little bit what his own cock tastes like in Nick's mouth, what he smells like, feels like on Nick's tongue. But he can't- He can't when all Nick sees is how much he wants, how perfect, good, right, yes. How much he wants _Joe_ more than he wants anything else in the world. 

"I want-" Nick says. And then Joe's head is all filled up with this perfect image, so perfect Nick must have thought about it before, crafted it so it was clear and sharp in his mind. This perfect image of Joe fucking him, buried deep inside him hot and tight and all the way. Moving in him. Joe's mouth drops open, his back arching off the bed the little bit it can arch when he's pinned down, and he doesn't even have time to warn Nick before he's coming hard and sudden into Nick's mouth. Nick coughs a little, kind of half swallowing, half drooling onto Joe's dick. And Joe's arms fly forward cause he's still pulling, but there's nothing holding him down anymore. He opens his eyes, and he grabs for Nick, grabs him by the back of his shirt and pulls him up rough; Nick scrambling with flaily limbs until his face is close enough for Joe to touch, his lips close enough for Joe to sink his tongue between them.

Joe's hand slides down over the crotch of Nick's jeans, cupping at his softening cock, feeling the wet spot there. Nick whines, buries his face in Joe's neck. Joe can feel the flush on Nick's cheeks. 

"I'm sorry," Nick says, quiet. 

"You're not." Joe pets his damp curls. "I'm kind of psychic. I can tell you're not."

"I know," Nick says miserably. 

"You know I'm psychic, or you know you're not sorry."

"Both," Nick mumbles.

"How do you know I'm psychic?" Joe stops petting, surprised. "I only just figured it out like twenty minutes ago."

Nick props himself up a little so he can give Joe a look like "duh." His eyebrows rise. "You were answering me when I wasn't even talking out loud before," he says. "You were choking me with juice, remember?"

"Oh," Joe says. "Right." He starts petting Nick's hair again, soothing himself more than Nick probably. Nick plucks at Joe's shirt nervously with his fingers, mouthing a little at Joe's neck. "You're the only one," Joe says. "That I can see, or hear, whatever you want to call it. In my head." He can feel Nick smiling into his shoulder, his fingers twisting Joe's shirt tighter. Joe rolls Nick over, rolls mostly on top of him, reaching between them to undo Nick's ruined pants. He kisses Nick slowly, deliberately, taking his time. Sliding his hand up under Nick's shirt, touching, touching Nick's soft skin. Nick wraps his arms around Joe's neck, arches up into him, responds with the prettiest little whimpers that Joe can catch in his mouth, swallow down one by one. 

"You know if you wanted something from me," Joe says as he helps Nick peel off his pants, as he helps Nick strip off Joe's shirt. "If you _ever_ want something from me. All you have to do is ask."

end


End file.
